May the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight, O LORD. Amen

Two of my favorite subjects in school were math and chemistry. I liked the challenge of solving the answer to an equation or determining the chemical formulas of the reactants (the starting substances) and the resulting chemical formula of the products (substances formed in the chemical reaction). They were things that had order and could be reproduced. It seemed that if you knew and applied the method, you had the answers. How simple and easy, right? Well, the idea of it anyway. As much as I am an analytical person, a part of me yearns for the mystery. The part of our lives that we just don’t understand. Those things that are bigger than ourselves. There is so much in our lives and world that can be explained by math and science, that is a blessing given to humanity. The ability to discover, learn, and reason. What room is there then for mystery?

I recently had a conversation with a parishioner regarding our search process for a new rector. She said that she just didn’t understand why it has taken so long. She added that she thought we would be more than half way through the process by now. It made me think of one of the blessings of this community. We are not afraid to take action. If we see something that needs to be done. We come together to figure out a way to see that it is done. Look at all the ministries of this parish. The food pantry, 1children ministries, contemplative prayer, newcomers, Cafe Fix-it, all the various works under the ministry of Partnership in Mission & Advocacy, the list can go on and on. I can certainly understand this parishioner’s perspective. Look at all of our knowledge, experience, talents and abilities. Come on, with all of this, we should be able to find a rector, right? We are open to being transfigured - let’s get it finished. Let’s find that leader and go forth. We have work to do. My response to her was, I think its good to be where we are at in the process. Probably a little surprised by my answer, she asked, “you think so?” Of course fear and doubt about my answer snuck in to my head...

As you may know, I am in the process of seeking ordination to the priesthood in the Episcopal Church. I have gone through the discernment process with you my parish, and have been working through and almost finished with the next step of that process with the diocese. As a part of discernment with the diocese, I am expected to serve at a parish other than St. Michaels. I have served in two parishes in my time with the diocese. My current parish, where I have been for a year is Our Lady in the Valley located in the South Valley of Albuquerque. A purpose of this expectation is to learn from, experience and grow with another parish. This experience has been interesting and as a result, I have continued to grow into my calling. One of the most interesting things I have discovered is that people expect you to have all the answers. After all, you’re in discernment surely you know a thing or two about God. This of 2course is quite unnerving and causes me to seek answers about God from others my self. What I have discovered about God, is the more we know, the less we know. The more God reveals Himself to us, the less certainty we have.

Transfiguration is not just about knowing there is change. It is about what that change is going to mean. What will that change give you? Look at Peter, James, and John. They witnessed something truly amazing. They were so unsure of how to react, James and John didn’t say anything and Peter says, “Lord it is good for us to be here...” then “suddenly a bright cloud overshadowed them, and from the cloud a voice said, "This is my Son, the Beloved; with him I am well pleased; listen to him!" They were terrified. Can you blame them? Later, as they looked back on that experience, they understood that Jesus was the Messiah. That he was truly the one sent to save the world. No wonder they were terrified. To experience something that holy and unexplainable, how can we not be fearful?

If we are afraid do we miss the opportunity to experience the mystery? If we are so caught up on what’s happening or not happening in our search process or if the vestry understands our needs or how are we going to pay for this building or does the clergy know who I am - are we missing out on the mystery of this sacred place. This place that I know from so many of you that describes it as simply coming home. This place that reminds 3us that we are loved no matter who we are. A place that we all come together every week to share a meal and remember that God is with us. The mystery of grace found at this table in bread and wine.

A couple of months ago, I gave a sermon at the 5:00 service. In that sermon, I said that fear is a powerful motivator. However, fear in itself is not good nor evil. It is how we deal with that fear that determines the path we take. This morning, I am going to add a little more to that. I want to be a little fearful. I don’t want to have all the answers. That doesn’t mean that we don’t continue to learn. It doesn’t mean that math and science don’t have a place in the church. It simply means that I want the mystery of God to flow over us. To transfigure us into the people we are called to be. I want to experience the mystery of a community gathering, praying, and sharing that holy meal then going out to do the work we are called to do in faith and thanksgiving. You see maybe for a while, we forget all the rationale, knowledge and certainty of what should or needs to be done and recognize that we are afraid. We take time to move from thinking in our minds to praying from our hearts. When we do this, it is in that quietness of fear when we will hear the Holy Spirit guiding us. We then know our path.

Lord, it is good for us to be here. Amen.

February 10, 2013
The Last Sunday of Epiphany
The Rev. Brian C. Taylor

Every year on this Sunday, just before we descend into the humbling valley of Lent, we are taken up on the mountain with Moses and Jesus for a last moment of glory. There is an encounter with God, which dramatically changes how they appear to others. 

Moses came down from Mount Sinai, the skin of his face shining such that the Israelites were afraid to come near him. At another time, on another mountain, while Jesus was praying, the appearance of his face changed, and his clothes became dazzling white. 

In our second reading today, Paul links together these two transfigurations. But he goes further. He says that all who live in Christ are also transformed from one degree of glory to another. The transfiguration of Moses and Christ becomes ours. 

The Transfiguration is one of the most often-used icons of the Eastern Orthodox churches. They take very seriously what Paul said. They make no bones about it - the goal of the life of faith is to realize the glory of God. They call this theosis, or “deification,” becoming God-like. 

In the West, we have taken up the possibility of transfiguration within what we call “spirituality.” In the practice of a spiritual life, we hope that over time we might finally reach a higher spiritual state, marked by true and lasting peace, harmony, and joy. 

I’ve become cautious about this kind of expectation. For it has the danger of setting up a romanticized ideal which we believe to be presently inaccessible to us, but might be someday, if we were to really apply ourselves. But when it comes, it never seems to last. And so we either conclude that spirituality is for other types of people, or we try harder, convinced that permanent transfiguration is just around the corner. 

I’ve become more drawn to the earthier - but no less profound - transfiguration that comes and goes in the moment. In those times when we stop our thinking, our worrying, our forward momentum, the present moment can open up. It opens not to some astounding and dazzling moment of glory, but to the simple fact of whatever it is. And that is deeply transformative. 

Zen Buddhists call this “suchness.” Suchness is the concrete quality of being that can be experienced at any time: the sensory reality of light, sound, movement, and touch. But suchness also includes thoughts and emotions that rise and fall. And so the air, our thoughts, our sensations, the world around us - all of it together makes up the unique and ever-changing reality of this moment. Some teachers just call it “things as they are,” or more surprisingly, “things as it is.” For people of faith, it is a place of opening, where in the stillness, God is found. 

This practice, often called mindfulness, is very simple, but very difficult. For we are a people of dissatisfaction, always striving to improve our lot, to reach what we imagine to be a more preferable state, to ruminate over the past and the imagined future. So to return to the present moment constitutes a radical challenge to all these deeply-ingrained habits. But there is also a sense in which this practice is easy. It’s so easy, we can do it right now. 

Keeping your eyes open and fixed on a spot in front of you, bring your attention to your breath...Take in the sounds around you...Take in the colors you see in front of you, in your peripheral vision...As thoughts arise, let them move on... If you’re carrying an emotion today, or some kind of stress, just feel it emotion physically, without pursuing it mentally...Bring your attention back to your breath...know that God fully inhabits this moment...relax into God; let this moment be what it is - sensations, rising and falling thoughts, this room, other people...as God says through the Psalm “Be still and know that I am God...”

...Amen.

What we discover in this practice is that even while we humans always will  - and should - strive to improve society and solve our personal problems, on another, more immediate level, life is always rich, always enough, just as it is. This is a form of faith. It is an encounter with God, for God fully infuses this, and every, present moment. And when are in this place, there is a quiet transfiguration, for God’s very presence changes us. 

We are changed because it shifts our perspective. Conflicts become less loaded with danger; sadness can just be a feeling, without fear attached to it; boredom dissipates as the world in all its variety and beauty opens up to us. We are just awake, available, experiencing what is, without any need to change it or be somewhere else. And over time, we come to know that whatever might be going on in our life, this sacred and very earthy reality is our foundation, which can never be shaken.  

The best part of this is that we are then more able to be of service to other people and to whatever God places in our path. This is the real benefit of transformation, or any form of spirituality, faith and prayer- it is not for our personal benefit alone. 

For when we are present, we can move calmly into our activities, our relationships, our work, our conflicts and challenges without personal baggage. We become a helpful presence to others, even a healing presence, for we are empty, not bringing anything extra to complicate matters. We are in a position to serve the other, to serve the interest of the moment at hand. 

In the story of the transfiguration, Jesus and his friends, after having that moment of divine encounter, go down from the mountain, down to everyday life. There they are met by a large and demanding crowd. God places in their path a man who is distraught over his son’s horrific convulsions - epileptic seizures, apparently. He begged Jesus’s disciples to help, but they couldn’t, or wouldn’t, do anything. 

At first, Jesus shows his humanity, and expresses frustration: How long will I have to put up with this? But then he stops, takes a breath, lets go of his baggage, opens up to what is at hand, and turns to the sick boy, healing him with attention and compassion. 

Jesus was only able to be a healer because he was grounded in God. Grounded in God, transfigured every time he encountered the divine in the everyday, he was in a position to be open and present to those whom God placed in his path, to serve the needs of the world around him. 

***********

In our second reading today, Paul talks about us having “unveiled faces, seeing the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror, being transformed from one degree of glory to another.” 

I don’t think what is promised here is some special, rarified state of consciousness that happens to a very elite few after years of strenuous effort. I think our transfiguration is simpler, more down to earth. 

It happens whenever we wake up, whenever we return to the divine encounter that is waiting for us within each moment. We become open - our faces are unveiled, and we see the humble glory of the Lord in things as it is. And we, too, can then be of service to this world as Jesus was. We, too, can be a healing presence for those people and those situations that God places in our path. 

We're sorry, the full text for this sermon is not available at this time.

One of the great blessings and joys of my life at St. Michaels are the friendships I have made.  One of the most personal and moving has been my friendship with Kenny.  For those of you that do not know Kenny, he attends the 7:30 service with his mother Carol.  At times he serves an acolyte or he brings the gifts.

I can always count on Kenny to be one of the first to greet me in the parish hall after the service.  I keep a gift that Kenny gave me one Christmas, an ornament that plays “O holy night” in one of our rooms.  I see Kenny as a member of the servant of worship, a devoted member but more importantly, as a friend.

However, when I see the true Kenny are those instances, when he comes up to me, his face lights up and he tells me where he placed in the latest Special Olympic event.  It could be bowling, skiing or swimming, it does not matter.  He is transfigured, there is a sense of purity, a sense of perfection, a sense that God is near.

When he recounts his story, for a moment I am speechless.  I do not see the Kenny as the world sees him, I see the person Kenny was born to be. It transcends words or simple explanations.   The same feeling when I see a horse run at a full gallop, an eagle soar among the cottonwoods or when I hear my son sing a solo.  There is purity, a knowing, they are fulfilling what God has placed within them.  

I cannot help but close my eyes and attempt to visualize that scene on the mountaintop, Peter gazing with wonder at Jesus touching the divine. When the Apostles walked with Christ, they knew he was special, they knew there was something about him, but it was there at that mountaintop where they began to see Jesus in a new way.

Peter, James and John got a brand-new insight into this Jesus, who really was — transforming, consuming, literally enlightening. He appears with Elijah and Moses, yet not the same, something new, unique and life changing.  Not Moses the lawgiver, nor Elijah, the prophet.  Jesus, the Son of God.  And then the words, "This is my beloved."

It is no longer just a rumor, God is validating why Jesus walked this earth.   A poor young carpenter, who preached, who loves the poor, heals the sick, welcomes the outcasts, this radical, this Son of God.  The outcast now has a place in the heart of God; living what God called him to do.  Peter in wonder says, "Lord, it is good to be here."

Few would have believed that this poor revolutionary from Nazareth would change mankind, yet he lived into his life.  And he asks us to do the same.  However much easier than it sounds.  We have a tendency to fight against our true calling.   

We often create images of who we think we are instead of living into our true selves.  I know people who have a wonderful capacity to create art, who are truly artists, but they do not trust themselves to live into their creative beauty, into their true lives.  Or the feel that there true calling is silly and put aside the silly dreams and toil as everyday workers secretly yearning for the brush.

Or we do other things like purchase stuff, material objects, we work in unfulfilling jobs, stay in abusive relationships, follow certain cultural expectations all because we believe that is what is expected of us, and our light is diminished. Forgetting that mountaintop, where God is validating our purpose, why we walk this earth.  

Last week Fr. Christopher wrote a beautiful sermon as to why we fill ourselves with stuff and become things we cannot recognize.  He said “it is the treasure that no one can take away from you of realizing that the gifts and resources you have are gifts from God and you can use them to care for people, you can hold them loosely enough to be used in ways that bring glory to God.”  That treasure includes who you are and what God has called you to be.  

I believe that story tellers at Walt Disney had an amazing capacity of describing to both children and adults the capacity to transfigure, to live into who you were called to become.  Think of Pinocchio, Tarzan or Beast in Beauty and the Beast.  One of my favorite is The Lion King, maybe because I remember watching the story with my son.  

The young lion cub named Simba makes a few bad choices that result in tragedy.  He then lets the evil Scar define him so he flees from his community and lives in the shadows far from what he truly is meant to be.  Eventually someone who knows him finds him and asks him to return to his community, which is in peril, and live into his calling.  

While wrestling with a decision about whether or not to accept that challenge, Simba is led to a pond. Poised before the water, Simba watches a reflection of his own image mysteriously transfigured by the presence of his deceased father.  He sees who he his, what he was created for and then understands his purpose in life, he finds the freedom to shed the chains of the past and present behind and to be himself.   He becomes original, unique, he becomes himself.  And we all must do the same.

The transfiguration is not a complicated story.  St. Matthew reminds us that the Transfiguration is a glimpse of glory. At the mountain height we are allowed to see Jesus as he really is and where he is ultimately headed. By implication, we can also see ourselves for who we really are.  

When we view others without expectations, when we allow ourselves the freedom to be completely free, to what God has called us to do, to be God’s children, we find out not only who we are, we find that Christ reveals who he really is in our lives.

We see that in unexpected places.  An infant can only be an infant, no assumptions, no facades.  When we look into the eyes of a child, they look back with trust, amazement and you in turn are filled with awe. Or for those of you that are teachers and that moment when a child gets it, and you know that that child’s life will forever be changed because of you, and you understand why you put up with the pressures and low pay, you understand that God has called you to live into what you were meant to do.   

You are in an intimate moment with the one you love, and realize happiness; you realize that God has you living into your calling.  You wonder where this happiness comes from.  
Or you stop in this journey and finally come to the realization that you need to live the life that God created for you.  That you need to be you, and not a recreation, not a portrait, not an expectation, not an image and  when you do so, there you will find peace, you find a light, living what God has called you to be.  

Look around, when we people live into their calling, it seems that they are bathed in this light of joy.  We began this season of Epiphany with a brilliant light of a star leading three wise men to Christ; it continues this week with Peter, James and John bathed in the brilliant radiance of Jesus on a mountaintop.  And it will continue, in Christ as we walk through lent to the great light of the resurrection on Easter.

Perhaps the story of the transfiguration simply helps us see God revealed in a new and re-creating way. Maybe we can catch a glimpse of how He knows us and how we ought to respond in our knowing of Him.  Maybe it will allow us to see ourselves for who we really are – God beloved, to become who we were meant to be.  

So there is a knowing, when I listen to Kenny speak of his bowling score, when I hear you tell me why you worship at St. Michael, how you fixed the  door at the food pantry, when you gently reach over and grasp the hand of the one who brings you love and joy.  I see a special light, I watch in wonder at you being you and like Peter say “Lord it is good to be here.”

The Transfiguration
February 14, 2010
The Rev. Brian C. Taylor

Today we conclude the season of Epiphany. We began this season with light, as the star of Bethlehem guided the Wise Men to the light of the world, to the holy child in the manger. And today we end Epiphany season with light, as Jesus’ face and garments become dazzling white on the Mount of Transfiguration. 

Like Moses before him, Jesus ascended a mountain and there, he met God. Like Moses, Jesus was filled with divine light. And as with Moses, the vision was too much for others to bear: Moses’ shining face had to be veiled; a cloud overshadowed Peter, James and John, and they were terrified. Glory, dazzling brilliance, and awe. Heaven and earth are filled with your glory; hosanna in the highest!

The transfiguration is perhaps the most central symbol of the Eastern Orthodox churches. In it they see the ultimate transfiguration of all creation in Christ, where every living thing will live in harmony, shining like the sun. In it they also see their own personal transfiguration, the glory of God manifested in each believer. They make no bones about it – the goal of human life is to realize the glory of God. They call this a process of “deification,” becoming God-like.

That’s a pretty bold claim. We westerners tend to put God’s glory off a bit, at a distance: in the sunset, in heaven, in the second coming of Christ. We may catch glimpses of glory here and there, but after all, we’re only human. God is God and we are not. In fact, western theologians have always told us that we are completely sinful, utterly alienated from the divine. I don’t buy it. I think deification is close at hand; transfiguration can happen any time, to anyone. 

In Willa Cather’s Song of the Lark, an ambitious young girl in a small town in Colorado named Thea dreams of moving to the big city and becoming an opera star. She says to her friend, the wise old Dr. Archie “Living's too much trouble unless one can get something big out of it." When Dr. Archie asks her what that something big might be, Thea answers “I only want impossible things. The others don’t interest me.” Thea dreams of transfiguration. 

For several years, I’ve been involved with an Episcopal clergy renewal organization called CREDO. One of CREDO’s suggestions for clergy renewal is for them to pray and dream about what they call a BHAG – a Big, Hairy, Audacious Goal. A BHAG is something that is clear and compelling, difficult, almost impossible, requiring many years to achieve. One person’s BHAG was to compose choral settings for all 150 psalms. Another’s was to climb Mt. Everest. Another’s was to create a rural center for retreats and interfaith dialogue. Mine? I’ll get to that. 

Praying and dreaming up a BHAG can transfigure one’s life. It can come out of the realization that living’s too much trouble unless one can get something big out of it, perhaps even an “impossible thing.” And it can take one into uncharted territory, full of great risk and great potential. 

Maybe you have such a dream about your life. Do you ever think about what you would do, if you could do anything, and money or other practical considerations were swept aside for a moment? What do you imagine? And what makes you think that you couldn’t do this? 

I feel as if we here at St. Michael’s are in the process of living into a BHAG that has been years in the making. The flowering of ministries we recently witnessed at annual meeting, the tearing up of our parking lot to construct a $2m Ministry Complex, an 18-month process called ReImagine St. Michael’s – these are Big, Hairy, Audacious things! We are seeking a transfiguration of sorts, so that we will live into our full potential, shining with the glorious light of God. 

But as we dream, and as you dream about big things in your life, I want to remember something. Transfiguration isn’t just all about externals. Transfiguration isn’t just about climbing the Himalayas, developing a wealth of church programs, and constructing big buildings. After all, we know that it is possible to gain the world and lose our souls. 

Transfiguration can also be internal. Perhaps your Big, Hairy, Audacious Goal is to become filled with the light of God, as Christ was: to walk through your days in simplicity, with purity of heart and clarity of mind; to see God everywhere; to love without reason. Living is too much trouble unless we get something big out of it, but that something big might be an internal spaciousness and the ability to really feel life, in all its beauty and pain, and give yourself to it without reserve.

Mary Oliver, a New England poet, is, for many of us, one of the clearest voices for this kind of transfiguration. She writes: 

When it is over, I don't want to wonder 
if I have made of my life something particular, and real. 
I don't want to find myself sighing and frightened, 
or full of argument. 
I don't want to end up simply having visited this world.

When it's over, I want to say: all my life 
I was a bride married to amazement. 
I was the bridegroom, taking the world into my arms. 

We can find this amazement, this spaciousness and feeling for life, this vibrant awareness. All it takes is a prayerful life. And as I’m fond of reminding you, Thomas Merton said, “If you want a life of prayer, you must pray.”  

And what is prayer? An ongoing desire for the goodness that surrounds and fills us; a tendency to open our heart to something beyond our little life; a willingness to trust and surrender into the presence that will always remain a mystery. 

For each person, this takes place in very personal, very unique settings. For some, it may be a walk in the bosque with your dog; for others, a conversation over tea with your best friend; or it may happen anytime you close your eyes, still the world, and feel your breath. Connection with God has the result of putting our forward momentum on hold, and opening us up to the beauty of life. 

When we do this, the ordinary is revealed as quite extraordinary. No matter what is going on, no matter where we are, the world lights up in front of us. Food becomes miraculous in our mouth; we see our companion as an incarnation of Spirit; and how did the sky ever get so blue? There is no need to look further for meaning. Everything is revealed. 

When we are reverently present, we get something big out of life. We are transfigured then and there -  not in some ultimate, permanent way -  but for that moment. The more we do it, the more familiar and accessible the route to this place becomes. Over time, we develop more space within us for God’s light. 

On this Mount of Transfiguration today we perch above the valley of Lent, which begins on Wednesday. Down there, we will soon recall our imperfection, our mortality. We will be invited to face into the personal and very specific obstacles that keep us from a prayerful life: shame, addiction, stubbornness, fear. In the valley of Lent, we will slowly clamber through, over, and around these obstacles, pausing along the way to bring awareness to each of them. We then give them to God as a humble offering, and open to the grace that will help us move beyond them. 

We need a vision before we begin this difficult journey, a vision of light and glory, so that we remember why we’re on this pilgrimage in the first place. We need the vision of the transfiguration. And in this vision, as St. Paul said in the second reading today, we see “with unveiled faces…the glory of the Lord as though reflected in a mirror.” 

The glory of the Lord reflected in a mirror? How amazing -  it turns out that you are the one who is transfigured on the mountain top. That is your purpose in this short and precious life, your BHAG - to be a bride of amazement. 

We're sorry, the full text for this sermon is not available at this time.